


Medical Care Is For People

by Anonymous



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anal Gaping, Anal Prolapse, Body Horror, Bumbling OCs, First Aid, Gross, HYDRA Trash Party, Medical Procedures, Other, REALLY GROSS, Rape Aftermath, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, shock collar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 22:39:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15083282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: For the Hydra Trash Party Prompt:Plain and simple - Bucky's ass falls out after he is raped too hard.Two technicians with minimal medical training must correct the Asset's anal prolapse so they don't get fired or worse.





	Medical Care Is For People

The Asset shuffled out of the showers and stood, head down and eyes shut, in front of the cryo tank. Normally silent, its throat clicked with a swallow and a soft grunt.

Technician M lifted his head sharply from where he stood at the monitor, double-checking. The Asset had received a bolus of antifreeze IV and a round of electroshock therapy, and then the tac team had escorted it to the armory to wrangle it into its cryo-suit. They had returned it forty minutes late. M was at first only concerned that he might need to replace the IV catheter for a second antifreeze dose.

The Asset had a curious furrow between its eyebrows. Its throat bobbed, and it grunted again.

"Asset, condition report," M demanded. Technician K glanced over her shoulder at him. She was manning the remote for the Asset's shock collar. It took a lot of attention, and she should have been the first to pick up something off with the Asset, but M had been assigned to it longer than K.

"Condition functional," the Asset replied.

"Asset, are you experiencing discomfort?" K asked, sharpening to more than her finger on the trigger.

"No," it replied. M said, drowning it out, "That's a useless question, K. Asset, remove all clothing and submit to inspection."

The Asset eyed both K and M, only complying slowly, after they each gave it a nod. First rule of working with the Asset: control your nonverbal cues, because it picks up on them. Like a horse.

The Asset stripped clumsily, unsystematically. It started by unbuckling the cryo vest. Then it left it dangling, and removed one boot. Then it felt the back of its muzzle, turned back to both K and M for approval, and removed that. Then the belt. Then the vest, dumped on the floor like it wasn't twenty thousand dollars to replace if someone stepped on it wrong and it sprung a leak. Then the trousers, stepping out of them with the bare foot. 

The Asset did not get underwear, because budget. 

"Oh, fuck," said M, flinging his hands in the air. The Asset cringed. "What?" asked K, circling around, then, "What the fuck? Fuck! What the fuck is that?"

That was a raw, red, glistening cylinder, somewhat like an earthworm the size of a man's fist, protruding between the Asset's cheeks and bleeding down its thighs. The Asset grunted again, its abdomen hollowing, and the cylinder lengthened slightly. Unfolding from the inside.

"Tac team thought we wouldn't notice," M growled. "Just pop him in the freezer, pull him out good as new, those _fucks,_ that's not how it works in real life. I am going to skin them. I am going to sedate them and skin them. They get their rocks off, and hand _this_ to us? My name's going on his cryo intake form, not theirs!"

"Is that a prolapse? Men get prolapses?"

"Seriously, there's no one higher up the pipe that would listen to us. I think we need to kill one of the tac team. Because if we hadn't caught this, five years down the line someone would've killed us."

"M, we can figure out a deterrence gesture later. We need a real doctor! Who do we have on call?"

"You are not listening to me," M growled. "If this gets out, it won't matter whose fault it is. The Tac team will get off scot-free. We will take the fall."

"So what do we do, shoot the Asset?" K asked. At this, the Asset looked over its shoulder with a hopeful expression. Then it slowly twisted its torso around and investigated the red worm with its biological hand. Fingers circled the sensitive rim of anal skin, squeezed and probed the inflamed rectum that protruded from it, passed into the oozing, mucus-wet hole where the colon began to evert and fold around itself. Its throat clicked, and the lean bands of abdominal muscle tightened. The prolapse extruded another inch.

"Asset, stop that!" M bellowed. It looked back at him defiantly. Eyed the remote control in K's hands. Electrocution would cause involuntary contraction of every muscle in the body, and that alone would make the prolapse progress. It knew that. Just like it knew that it was seriously damaged--but for the moment, functional.

The Asset was not, really, much like a horse at all. Or maybe it was exactly like a fucking horse.

"Asset," M said, his voice low, steady. "There is only one outcome here where I walk out alive. That is if that thing goes back in your body where it came from. If you refuse to cooperate, K will electrocute you and you can continue to literally shit your guts out. At least we will have the satisfaction of knowing you suffered before getting us killed. And if you do successfully shit your guts out, someone will find you, and they will put you back together. Probably not too well, but rest assured they will always find a use for you in whatever form you can be had. Do you understand?"

The Asset bent its head and fingered its prolapse for a terrifyingly long time. M gave the nod to K to zap the shit out of it, but just in time, it said, "I understand."

M sighed slowly. He looked at the maintenance chair across the room--adequate restraints, but not enough flexibility. They needed a surgical table. They needed one of those stupid inversion tables for people with back pain. They needed a medieval torture rack, but, hah! Apparently those were obsolete. 

"Asset, lie down on the seat of that folding chair face down with your hips on the chair and your chest on the floor. K, watch him. I'm gonna...run and get supplies."

"If you make it worse, I'm calling a doctor," K called as M hurried from the room. 

"If I make it worse, we're both dead."  
  
M swiped out of the cryo room. Swiped out of max security. Took two elevators to the ground floor. Took a moment in the men's room banging his head against a bathroom stall door.

M was pretty damn good at his job. He maintained over a dozen ancient, unique machines whose designers spoke four separate languages, all of which were indispensable for the preservation and maintenance of HYDRA's greatest weapon. It would take at least two years for him to train a replacement, and the kind of intelligence that he brought, the ability to source and swap parts for a Soviet refrigerator that had to run uninterrupted for years at a time, to re-machine parts for devices that had no blueprints and no specifications surviving--that was, and he said this in all humility, irreplaceable. But if Tac team wants to fuck the ass out of the Asset, he was going to be the scapegoat.

Fuck HYDRA. He should have stayed on his dad's ranch.

He knew exactly what to do for the Asset, though. He'd seen this on his dad's ranch.  
  


He got back to the Cryo room an hour later, with a carton of salt, a towel, and a stolen dry-cleaning hanger. 

"You were gone that so long I expected you to bring _actual medical equipment,_ " K said, eyes bloodshot from staring at the Asset. 

"Medical equipment's for people," M defended himself. "You have any idea how hard it is to find wire coathangers anymore?" He wet the towel in the sink, and poured half the salt into it. Then he approached the Asset. "Asset, I am about to perform medical care. Do not resist."

M placed himself hesitantly between the Asset's legs. There was no safe zone anywhere near the Asset. A heel could snap up and crush his testicles when he stood behind it, just like a finger could whip out and crush his larynx from in front of it. It didn't happen often anymore. But M's life depended on how well the Asset respected K.  
The prolapse slumped down between the Asset's legs, fragile and oozing and beginning to dry in an unhealthy crust near the end. Almost like a second dick, except it looked nothing like a dick--twice as wide, red and irregular and puffy. Turning yellow in patches, where it was driest. It smelled faintly of fecal matter, the nasty yellow stuff that strained out after a bowel-clearing expulsion. He'd hoped it would have sucked back in with the Asset in a face-down position for an hour, but no such luck. M scooped the prolapse up in the damp towel and smushed the salt over it.

The Asset tensed.

"What are you doing?" K asked, finger hovering nervously over the remote's trigger. Any shock to the Asset would probably give M a heart attack. 

"Taking the swelling down," M explained, dredging up memory. "Osmosis. You're supposed to use sugar, but I couldn't find any without leaving the building."

"And you just thought this up while panicking in a bathroom stall?" K demanded.

That was technically true, but M wasn't about to admit it. "It's how Doc Simon fixed up one of my dad's cows," M said. "Well, it was a vagina, not a rectum, but the principle oughtta be the same. And the Asset's tougher than a cow."

The Asset wheezed and banged its head against its left arm. M squeezed on the prolapse through the towel, and it froze again, digging its toes against the concrete. 

"Switch with me, I need to make something," M said after ten minutes of unproductive massage. The towel was red with blood.

"What the fuck am I supposed to do, Farmer Dan?" K demanded.

"Just, try to squeeze it back in! I don't know, the vet did that part!" 

"That doesn't help," K growled.

"Come on. Don't you have, you know, more sensitive hands?"

"No."

The Asset's arm whirred and rattled against the chair leg. Under M's hands, the fleshy cylinder trembled. "Never mind, I think I'm getting somewhere." He dumped more salt in the towel.

The idea, he knew, was not to push the prolapse in at the bottom, where it left the anus. That would only lead to a triple-fold of elastic tube entering the body, even tighter than the double-fold of elastic tube leaving the body. The idea was to push the prolapse back starting at the tip. Where, coincidentally, the swelling was worst and the bloody tube was closest to tearing. The salt helped, theoretically, by pulling out water and shrinking everything. He remembered Doc Simon using a pound of sugar making M join in as they massaged and shoved the old cow's shit-smeared vagina back in place with the help of a clean bath towel; the sugar actually made the vagina a little slick as it dissolved.

The salt appeared to be physically cutting and eroding into the Asset's rectum; it looked less shiny and whole even in the parts that had been healthy when he'd started. Too late now.

The prolapse creaked again, a vibration under his fingers. His hands were bloody and stinking; he should have worn gloves. In his excitement at solving this problem, he'd forgotten that the Asset was basically human. Cowshit on his hands had been one thing, but human shit was quite another. 

He wrapped his hand loosely around the base of the prolapse, drawing out gently, as he pushed in at the end with his fingers and thumb. This time, it definitely moved. Backed in half an inch. "Hah!" M bellowed, delighted with himself. He repeated the motion. The Asset made a soft whimpering sigh of misery. Must be like setting a broken bone. Well. Progress. 

After that first inch, the prolapse seemed to un-stick. M drew out and poked in, drew out and poked in, and then it was four inches, two inches, an apple instead of a worm, and then with a satisfying squish it popped back inside, revealing the raw and gaping rim that had started this whole nightmare.  
The Asset hissed through its teeth and drew its thighs together defensively, stopping just before it pinned M by the leg. M caught it looking at him, under and around the seat of the chair, hiding its eye behind its hair. 

M stepped away. He glanced at K. They weren't about to shock it now, and it knew that.

"Asset, maintain position," M ordered. He looked down at his bloody hands, and turned away to scrub them in the sink.

He opened his electrical toolbox and pulled out a heavy-duty pair of wire cutters, then unbent the wire coathanger he'd retrieved. Straightened it into a long, squared-off U. Nipped each end of the U at a sharp angle, leaving crude points. For the coup de grace, he pulled an ID patch out of his pocket. He showed it to K.

_ROLLINS J_ , it read.

K nodded her approval. M poked the ends of the steel U through the ID patch and slid it to the base of the bent wire, like a button.

"Now we really need to switch," M said.

"Why?" K asked, suspicious. She eyed the wire, and the Asset.

"My hands won't fit."

The Asset's hands and legs tensed sharply, digging in for purchase. K squeezed the trigger. It flailed, all limbs tense, the left arm limp, right arm curling out at a strange angle, back bowed. It actually popped off the folding chair, sending it flying, flipped in mid-air, and landed on its head with a crack. 

K let off the charge and stomped over to it. "Are you done?" she barked. 

The Asset stared vaguely up at the ceiling, its face grimacing in residual tremors. With its left hand, it gestured, _acknowledged._

K righted the folding chair. "Resume position, Asset." 

The Asset struggled to all fours, and bear-walked sideways to slump face-down over the seat of the chair again. 

"Check it," K said.

M sidled over to the Asset's head, and probed through its hair from as far away as reasonably possible. No dents. "We're good."

The prolapse was back. Apple-sized, not diseased-cock sized. M grabbed the towel off the floor and shoved it roughly back in. 

"I think we're gonna want it in the chair for this," M said. "The big chair."

"Asset, chair." K trailed the Asset as it pushed itself to its feet and staggered, dazed, toward the ECT chair with its restraints and recalibration paddles. The moment it came to rest on the seat, M got to work securing its limbs. His hands were shaking. Getting the Asset in the chair was usually a five-person job. It didn't always respect the shock collar enough. Maybe, M thought crazily, it knew they were trying to help it. Asset secured, M offered it the bite guard, and as usual, it leaned forward and took it, with an expression like it would rather be biting into M's fingers. 

K lowered the remote. "What, exactly, do you need me to do with my dainty girl hands?"

M pulled the coathanger with the ID patch strung on it out of his pocket. "I need you to put this in there and then stab it through to the outside. Like a button, so it can't pop out again."

The Asset squeezed its eyes shut and sagged against the headrest.

"The vet did this?" K asked dubiously.

"Sort of," M said. "I mean. He had this plastic thing--the principle is the same."

"You know a vagina is cleaner than a rectum," K continued.

"Not in that cow," M muttered. "It's the Asset. It'll be fine. If anyone investigates and takes it out, bam!" He pointed to the ID patch. "Jack Rollins marking his territory. This all gets swept under the rug."

K traded the remote for M's coat-hanger. "It'd be easier to just sew it shut."

"Tac team would notice," M countered. 

"And they won't notice when their dicks bang into this giant fucking staple?"

"Not if you put it deep enough. It's gotta be you, you have smaller hands."

"My hands are _average,_ " K growled.

They stared at the Asset slumped in the chair. A bulge of angry red tissue had begun to creep back out, slightly lifting its hairless testicles. 

"Fine," said K. "Where's some gloves?"

M got her a pair of disposable black nitrile gloves for working with harsh chemicals. 

"Lube?"

M shrugged.

K knelt between the Asset's knees and pushed the prolapse back in. The Asset's chest heaved. "Stop straining," she ordered, and the Asset made a rising-and-falling hum which was the nearest thing to "I can't" that it was allowed to say. She pinched the points of the wire between three fingers, narrowed her hand into a wedge, and began to work her way into him. The Asset shut its eyes and gnawed on its bite guard, breathing slowly.

When she got to the base of her thumb, she turned to look at M over her shoulder. "This feels really wrong."

"It's Strike," M said. "Buncha animals."

"I mean it feels rough and stiff. It's not healthy."

"How do you know?" M asked impatiently.

"I've stuck a finger up a dude's ass before," K said. "It did not feel like this."

"If you've done it before, then why were you making such a big deal over it?" M gestured expansively with the remote. 

"Maybe I don't want to be thinking about the Asset's anal prolapse next time I slip a couple fingers to my boyfriend, ever think about that?" K snapped. She twisted her wrist and shoved, and the Asset made a cut-off yelp, then began to hyperventilate. "Oh, fuck, it's over my glove. Oh, gross."

"OK, good, good," M said, striding forward to hover over her shoulder. "Now push the wire through." He pointed low on the Asset's abdomen where an appendectomy scar might go. "Try to make it come out right there."

The Asset's body heaved continually with its rapid breaths. 

"I don't want to staple through something important," K protested. She torqued her hand back and forth. "Maybe if I move everything out of the way. Hey, push down on him. Right here."

M reluctantly bent down and pressed down just to the inside of the Asset's hip gone, as K wriggled and forced in more and more of her wrist from inside. He felt her hand bump against his through the Asset's body.

"Stay right there," K said, and with her free hand, she pushed up on the base of the wire.

The Asset stopped breathing, the only sound the soft clicks of its throat and the creak of its teeth clenched in the bite block. M felt something sliding and popping under his hand, one point, two points, then two hard bulges under the skin. K, watching, gave a last hard shove against the wire, and they shoved out, bloody and slightly bent. One of the wires scratched M's palm. 

"Fuck," he snarled, gripping his hand and squeezing blood out of the cut. "Probably covered in Strike jizz, I'm gonna need prophylaxis. Fuck."

K pulled the ends of the wires out snug and bent them flat. While M soaped his hand in the sink, she got a pair of needlenose pliers and twisted them together, then snipped the ends short. M's other toolbox furnished a box-cutter. She broke the tip off the extendable blade to freshen it, then cut through the Asset's skin between the places the wires emerged, so the whole mess sank into the wound. A little steel still showed, so she pinched the skin up and duck-taped over it.

"We're done," K announced.

"Thank god," M said. "Start another IV, he's probably burned through all his antifreeze by now."

Placing IVs and administering sedatives and cryoprotectants were supposed to be the only real medical tasks K and M were responsible for. K washed the blood and mucus off her wrist, then strapped the Asset up with a tourniquet and got started. It took ten minutes to safely deliver the antifreeze, during which they cleaned up and figured out how to file a reasonable incident report that would result in M getting STD prophylaxis without having to explain why or alerting his wife. 

At the end of it, the room stank of garlic, from the antifreeze on the Asset's breath, and it looked marginally calmer. Its eyes were open and tracking. It appeared to have burst a couple blood vessels. 

"Asset, when you are released from the chair, you will stand, dress, and await further instruction," M ordered. K had the remote back. M flipped open the restraints as fast as he could, then jogged backwards several steps.

The Asset let the mouthguard drop, foamy, to the floor. It braced itself on its arms and pushed up cautiously, got its feet on the ground, and shuffled, stiffly, tenderly, like an old man. It stopped by the folding chair and leaned down, bracing one arm on the seat as it maneuvered its bare leg back into its trousers. Sat down to replace and lace up its boot. Knelt to retrieve its mask and belt. 

"I'll call Strike. Have 'em get him into the vest, but give 'em a time limit this time," M said.

"It."

"What?"

"You said "him.""

"Sorry. Long day."

The Asset threaded on the belt, buckled on the mask. Then it shuffled on its knees to the cryo vest. In slow, halting movements, it swung it on and buckled it shut. Then it stood, letting out a soft moan, and stood placidly, facing the cryo pod.

"Or that," K said, lowering the remote a fraction.

"You know, I think it does know we were trying to help it." M opened the cryo pod door. "Asset, get in. Night-night."

The Asset shuffled inside as fast as it appeared to be able, and stood, ready to have its cryo vest plugged in.

"Thassaboy," M said, and patted it proudly on the shoulder. It stood quietly and let him work.  
  
-fin

**Author's Note:**

> This is the "plastic thing."
> 
> https://www.dlc.com.au/profix-prolapse-buttons-rapair-kit-for-cattle


End file.
